I remember sitting in a dim, velvet-draped corner of a French Quarter cafe, the air thick with the scent of roasted chicory and the frantic, beautiful syncopation of a street…
The rhythmic clatter of 'The Muse' is usually my sanctuary, but lately, my mind has been stuck on a different, much more jarring beat: the relentless, soul-sucking drone of highway…
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit corner of a French Quarter cafe years ago, the scent of chicory coffee thick in the air, trying to coax a poem…
I remember sitting in a dim, rain-slicked cafe in the Marais, staring at a half-eaten croissant and the crushing weight of my own silence. The world outside was a frantic,…
I remember sitting in a dim, cramped corner of a jazz club in New Orleans, clutching a lukewarm drink and feeling like a ghost in a room full of living,…
I was sitting in a dusty corner of a local bookstore last Sunday, trying to rearrange some titles into a bit of "bookstore poetry," when the realization hit me like…
I was sitting in a dusty corner of a little shop in the French Quarter, rearranging a stack of poetry volumes to form a makeshift sonnet, when the whole display…
I was sitting in a dim corner of a jazz club in the Quarter last Tuesday, the air thick with the scent of old bourbon and rain, waiting for a…
I was sitting in a dim corner of a local bookstore last Tuesday, rearranging some dusty spines to form a poem about lost melodies, when a friend sent me a…
I was sitting in a dim corner of a bookstore in the French Quarter last Tuesday, rearranging a stack of poetry books to form a little accidental verse, when I…